Fire and Ashes Read online

  Was resuscitation performed? Was oxygen given to the subject? No to both questions. Luther was too far gone.

  Was the victim heard to cry out by any witnesses? That was the key question, Angela thought. She was glad this question was on her form. She could ask around after she finished the body actualization. She’d seen Greiman jump to conclusions before. It wasn’t her job to investigate this death—in fact, it was in direct violation of the rules. That task belonged to the police and fire investigator.

  But she did have to record the facts. And she’d do everything she could to make sure Kendra was fairly treated.

  CHAPTER 4

  Day one

  Ollie Champlain was capering for the crowd across the street, a crookbacked demon spewing racist insults among the flashing red lights and choking smoke.

  “Sh! Ollie, don’t say that!” Angela recognized the shusher, a rail-thin blonde in designer jeans. Virginia Carondelet.

  “I tell it like it is.” Ollie thrust out his chicken chest. “That little chili choker killed my friend.”

  “Not so loud.” Virginia looked uneasy. Forest residents saved those words for when they were cloistered with their own kind.

  “I employ a lot of Mexicans. Most are hard workers and I like them personally. But get too many and the tone changes. They’re not like us.” That bored drawl belonged to Nick, Virginia’s husband. The pair were part of the younger Forest elite. Nick had clean-cut frat-boy looks, but his face was a little too dull to be really handsome. Angela had gone to school with them.

  “Daddy hires a lot of Mexicans, too. They’re cheap,” said Bebe Du Pres Bradford, a plump, pretty blonde with nearly translucent skin. Bebe, Nick, and Virginia were holding silver flasks. The alcohol must have been keeping them warm. No one was dressed for the 3:00 a.m. chill.

  “Hi, Angela.” Virginia waved her over as if they were at a party. No, not quite a party, Angela decided. They were too subdued. More like a memorial service. “You know Ollie, don’t you? Come join us.”

  Virginia handed Ollie her silver vodka flask. Booze dribbled down Ollie’s turkey neck as he gulped. “Thank you, darling.” He planted a sloppy kiss on Virginia’s smooth cheek. She winced. Serves you right, Angela thought. Your booze is fueling his burning hatred.

  After she’d finished Luther’s body actualization, Angela had moved carefully across the wet street, using her cane to avoid the puddles and fire hoses. She hoped to find out if anyone had heard Luther call for help before the fire.

  “Want a drink, Angela?” Bebe asked. “I have Great-grandmama Du Pres’s bathtub gin flask from the Roaring Twenties. We’re drinking Belvedere, and Nick has Macallan’s. We keep it in the freezer.”

  “No, thanks. I’m working.”

  “We’re working, too,” Virginia said. “On a couple of fifths!” Her giggle was cut off by Nick’s disapproving frown. “We don’t mean to be disrespectful, but the only way to handle this tragedy is with a couple of drinks. We saw the firemen carrying Luther out. At least I think that was him.”

  Angela remembered how the gaudy Rhinestone Cowboy used to look and felt sick.

  “That Mexican gold digger’s done it now,” Virginia said.

  Angela said nothing, and tipsy Virginia interpreted her silence as agreement. She took another swig from her silver flask. Its smooth surface glowed in the harsh portable lights.

  Mexican gold digger? It’s time to say something, Angela decided. “Kendra was born here in the Forest.”

  “Don’t be boring, darling,” Virginia said. “She killed our Luther.”

  Our Luther? Before the blaze, the Forest had condemned him as a drunken bed-hopper who’d betrayed a “good woman.” The fire had burned away his sins.

  “We have the most delicious gossip,” Virginia said. “Bebe works with Luther’s lawyer. She’s been telling tales out of school.”

  “I have not!” Bebe was mock indignant. “Luther blabbed it everywhere.” She took a long drink of icy vodka.

  “I bet Angela doesn’t know,” Virginia said. “She’s a working stiff. But not a stiff―right, sweetie?” She waved her flask and sloshed some on her thin cashmere sweatshirt. “Oopsie.”

  “Spill,” said Angela, and she didn’t mean Virginia’s drink.

  Virginia lowered her voice. “Luther offered Priscilla a million dollars for a quickie divorce. Missouri has a thirty-day minimum. But she turned him down. Priscilla has her own money, and she said she’d spend every nickel to keep Luther from marrying that little man-stealer. She never signed the divorce papers, so she’s still next of kin. Wasn’t she smart? Now she’s an heiress as well as a widow.”

  “I heard Luther gave Kendra two million when they got engaged,” Angela said.

  “See?” Bebe said. “I told you this wasn’t confidential. Luther wanted to give his daughter a million to change her mother’s mind, but Eve told him to go to hell. She told us all this tonight―I guess that’s yesterday―when we were barbecuing by the pool.”

  “Eve left there about nine, before the fire started,” Virginia said. “I wonder if she’s home watching it on TV. You know Luther screwed the Mexican in the pool here?”

  “Luther tried,” Bebe said. “She got away at the last minute and ran to her car. Luther followed her, grabbing his crotch and bellowing, ‘Baby, I love you! Let me show you how much.’”

  “Ick,” Angela said.

  “I can’t believe my manicurist is a murderer,” Virginia said. “I really liked Kendra.”

  “Do you honestly think Kendra killed him?” Angela asked.

  “We all saw her run out the front door in that tacky lace thing about the time smoke started pouring from the bedroom window, but no one remembers Kendra trying to go back to save Luther—until there were lots of witnesses.”

  “Did you hear Luther call for help when the fire started?” Angela asked.

  “Not a peep,” Nick said. “He was dead by then. Crafty little creature made sure it was too late before she started screaming for help.”

  “Her prancing around half-naked kept the firefighters from doing their job,” Bebe said. “She did it deliberately, to kill poor Luther.”

  Poor Luther? Angela wondered. The Forest pariah was now upgraded to “poor Luther.” Once again, the Forest protected its own—even someone who didn’t want to belong. She remembered her last sight of Kendra being loaded into the ambulance. Her hands and feet were bloody, and her hair was singed. Kendra had looked like a victim. But in this crowd, low-rent Kendra was a killer.

  “She’s the arsonist.” Bebe’s voice was shrill with excitement. “She’s setting the fires.”

  Virginia nodded sagely and belched slightly. “She hates us. They all do. Look at the arson targets.” She counted them off on her long, fire-tipped fingers—with nails that had been painted flame-red by the woman she was accusing. “The first fire was started in a historic barn, destroying our history. Next was the Hobarts’ pool house. Burned to the ground.”

  “That family has had so much tragedy,” Bebe said.

  “It’s too bad the pool house burned,” Angela said. “But their daughter died in a car crash last year.” Get some perspective, people.

  “I heard the fire investigator found the arsonists had been partying at the Hobarts’ fire. Beer. Cheap liquor.” Bebe lowered her voice to a whisper. “Heroin. The Mexicans celebrated while the building burned.”

  “Mexicans?” Angela said. “There’s more than one arsonist?”

  “Her father’s Mexican, isn’t he?” Virginia said. “He’s done so well in this country, and now he’s turned on us.”

  “Her mother’s no better,” Bebe said. “She cleans houses and brings in more Mexicans.”

  “It’s sad,” Virginia said. “Kendra’s a good manicurist. She always fits me in when I have an emergency and break a nail. But we have to put aside our personal feelings and look at the facts. This is the third fire. First, it’s our property. Now they’re burning us alive in our beds. They�
�ll burn down the whole Forest, then bring in all their relatives.”

  “I agree,” Nick said. The blond preppie talked as if he had a mouthful of marbles. “Like I said, one or two are okay. But now the balance has tilted and they’re dangerous. Kendra used the other fires as a cover to kill our Luther.”

  “She’s smart,” Virginia said, “but she didn’t do it alone. She had help, and not just her family. I saw a black man creeping around Luther’s house before the fire. They’re just as bad as the Mexicans.”

  “What did he look like?” Bebe’s eyes were bright with interest.

  “Big. Muscular shoulders. He wore”—Virginia paused for another drink―“gold chains. I saw them gleaming in the light.”

  The mysterious black male, Angela thought. He appears at every crime scene in white neighborhoods.

  “If Jose killed Luther,” Nick said, “his daughter wouldn’t have to marry the old man. He has to be in on it.”

  The others nodded in agreement, except for one couple who’d joined the group, Ann Burris and Bryan Berry. Ann wore a bronze-sequined sheath, and Bryan, a dentist, had on a well-tailored dinner jacket.

  “I don’t believe Jose or Kendra started the fire.” Ann’s sequins glittered in the portable lights. She and Bryan were the Forest’s glamour couple. Ann avoided the safe, dowdy dresses the elite preferred and hosted the most popular parties and charity events. Bryan performed complex dental procedures and raced Porsches. Only they could afford to buck the Forest’s opinions.

  “Kendra does my nails.” Ann’s nails were long, strong, and fashionably red.

  “So she paints your nails and you’re an expert?” Virginia had had enough vodka to challenge Ann.

  “We talk while she works. Kendra is a sweet, hardworking girl.”

  “She works hard, all right.” Bebe’s pale face was flushed. “On her back.”

  “Luther wasn’t the best choice for a fiancé,” Ann said. “But she had her reasons.”

  “She had two million reasons,” Nick said. “If you know so much, who is setting the fires?”

  “Bored teenagers,” Ann said.

  “Reggie Du Pres asked the cops to keep an eye on the Toonerville kids,” Bebe said. “He called a special meeting. Mother told me.”

  “Toonerville teens aren’t setting the fires,” Ann said. “It’s the Forest kids. They’re bored. Summer’s coming, and they’re looking at a dull internship or even duller work in the family firm.”

  The air around the golden couple grew icier. No one accused the Forest’s sons and daughters of crimes. “Ridiculous,” Virginia said. Bebe brayed a laugh.

  Nick said, “You’re beautiful, Lady Ann, but you’re wrong. We don’t damage our own community.”

  “You do look beautiful, darling.” Bebe awkwardly tried to change the subject. “Were you at a party?”

  “Cocktails for the Friends of the Library. Poor Priscilla was there, too. I’d finally coaxed her out, and then someone told her Luther had been misbehaving tonight, and suddenly she didn’t feel well. Just as well she left the party about nine. She didn’t see this circus.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Day one

  A short, round woman with crinkly gray hair materialized out of the smoke and chaos and tugged on the sleeve of Angela’s black pantsuit. “Excuse me, are you Elise’s daughter?”

  Angela thought the woman looked like an off-duty fairy godmother. She was somewhere in her sixties, about the same age as Angela’s late mother. The harsh lights showed every line and wrinkle in her face, along with her faded blue eyes, the dark smudges on her yellow polyester pantsuit, and the mud on her sturdy white nurse’s shoes.

  “I’m Minnie Lynn Dunbar.” Angela could barely hear her over the roar of the fire trucks. This woman could help Angela answer the major question about Luther. The phrase “burning question” floated through her mind, and Angela shooed it away.

  “You don’t remember me, but I used to work with your mother at the Du Pres’s. You were just a little bit of a thing.”

  Angela had a vague memory of a plump woman who smelled of lavender lotion and gave her cookies in the drafty old Du Pres kitchen. “You helped clean and gave me homemade snickerdoodles.”

  “You do remember me. Or at least my cookies.”

  Angela shook the old woman’s strong, work-worn hand. Minnie Lynn’s nails were clipped short and polish-free, reminding Angela of her mother’s hands.

  “I left the Forest to get married. I’m a widow now, and moved back here to work for the Hobarts. I live two doors down and keep house for Miss Eudora Hobart, a maiden lady in her nineties. You look just like your mother. You’ve got her pretty brown hair. That’s how I recognized you. You’re tall like your daddy, too. What are you? Five ten?” Minnie Lynn asked.

  “Six feet.”

  “My.” Minnie Lynn treated Angela’s height like an achievement. “Why are you dressed for work at this hour?”

  “I’m a death investigator for Chouteau County.”

  “A college job.” Minnie sounded impressed. “This is a terrible night. Terrible.”

  She shook her head sadly, but Angela heard a slight note of glee.

  “Are you investigating Luther’s murder?”

  Murder? “We don’t know how he died,” Angela said.

  “I do. She killed him.”

  “Kendra?”

  “A tramp if I ever saw one.” Minnie’s face was alight, and she was eager to condemn Kendra and Luther. “He left Miss Priscilla to go chasing after that . . .” Minnie’s vocabulary failed her. “Hussy,” she finished. “Dried-up old coot had no shame. He was stupid enough to think that young woman liked him. Only part she liked was the bulge in his pants, and I’m not talking about his thingamajig. She was after his wallet. We know that’s big and hard.”

  “When was the last time you saw Luther tonight? Before the fire started?”

  “He came home about nine or so, dressed in that silly cowboy outfit. She was driving the old boy’s Mercedes. She wore a tight dress and his engagement ring. Gaudy thing with a diamond the size of a golf ball.”

  “Were they fighting?”

  “Not exactly. He was drunk as a sailor on leave and pawing her, like he always does. Running his liver-spotted hands over her bosom. Right in public. And she let him, too. The woman sets the tone in a relationship.” Minnie was puffed with righteousness, like an angry hen. She couldn’t bring herself to say Kendra’s name.

  “He was so sozzled he could hardly stand. He kept telling her to put on her white-lace . . .” She hesitated, then said quickly, “Her white lace F-suit. He used the F-word a lot. It took her a while to get the old coot inside the house. I’d just settled down with my TV show and a cup of tea when her father came storming up to Luther’s house and pounded on the front door. He’s a Mexican, you know. Luther and Jose had a fight at the front door. Loud enough I could hear it.”

  Angela wondered if Minnie Lynn had turned off the TV and peered out the window to hear better.

  “I thank the Lord Miss Eudora and her caregiver are spending the night at the Hobarts’ house. They shouldn’t be subjected to language like that—or this sideshow.”

  “What was the fight about?”

  “Jose said she should break off her engagement and come home because Luther had no respect for her. Then Luther said he respected the way she . . .” She stopped and lowered her voice again, though none of the nearby firebugs could hear them. “He used the F-word again. Said she was better than a pro.

  “Jose tried to punch Luther. Kendra shouted at her father to stop and tried to drag Luther inside. She was angry and crying. Jose said if she insisted on marrying Luther, she should live with her parents until the wedding. She said she was staying with her fiancé until he settled down, then she’d go to her apartment tonight. She lives in a nice place in Toonerville. After that, they switched to Mexican. I saw her shake her head no and try to shut the door.

  “Luther was still riled up. He pushed her
out of the way and shouted that Jose was fired. Screamed, ‘I’ll bankrupt you, you stupid beaner!’”

  “Luther said that in front of Kendra?” Angela said.

  “He did. And she said nothing. Luther was still shouting when she pushed him inside and slammed the door. Then it was quiet. Next thing I know, I smelled smoke and saw flames coming out of Luther’s bedroom window. She was running around in underwear no decent woman would wear. She was hysterical and cursing. F-words everywhere. I never heard her say Luther was still inside until more people were around. By that time, it was too late.”

  “Did you hear Luther scream for help before the fire?”

  “No. He couldn’t. She murdered him. Poured gasoline on him. She had a can by the door. Belonged to her father. I saw it there before the fire started.”

  Minnie was shivering and yawning. “It’s chilly,” Angela said. “Let me walk you home and make you some hot tea.”

  “No, thanks. It’s way past my bedtime. I’ll let you get back to work.” Angela walked Minnie to Miss Eudora’s house, a three-story brick with black-lacquered double doors. She hugged Minnie and waited until the housekeeper waved good night from the living room, then shut the curtains.

  Angela saw a big, black Mercedes roar up, the kind most Forest dwellers would sell their souls for. The sleek, arrogant car screeched to a stop next to Virginia, Nick, and Bebe. Angela recognized Eve Delor DeMun. Luther’s estranged daughter stuck her head out the window. Eve’s normally smooth, pretty face was warped with rage. Emergency lights threw bloody splashes on her blonde hair. “Where is the son of a bitch?” she screamed.

  “Your father?” Virginia was unsteady and a little frightened.

  “Who else, you ninny?”

  “Uh,” Virginia said.

  Nick stepped protectively in front of his wife. “Eve, I’m very sorry, but you should prepare yourself for the worst.”

  “What’s that?” she shrieked.